


A Ghost Between Thighs

by Blake_Valentino



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Hockey, If I've missed any major tags let me know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, References to Suicide, Unprotected Sex, alcohol use, boys being boys (emotional wrecks)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake_Valentino/pseuds/Blake_Valentino
Summary: A day following Derek Nurse, the chillest, saddest, hockey boy in the world. Well, in this world.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	A Ghost Between Thighs

**Author's Note:**

> This is me avoiding my original works to write therapeutic, damming words about my favourite fictional character Derek Nurse. Am I projecting? Absolutely.
> 
> Only my eyes have seen this, so excuse any grammatical or spelling mistakes! Lord knows I miss them constantly.
> 
> Also, a fun fact, I listened to Max Richter's "On The Nature of Daylight" religiously when writing this. I do that for most of my writing, really says too much about the kind of person I am.

The light from outside filters in, strong, radiant like sound. Derek feels the blankets enveloping him, warm against his body. He’s groggy again, knows Dex has already gone to class. The waves of feelings, or lack thereof, buffet him, leaving him despondent and queasy.  
  
Lifting the covers, he jumps down, bare feet on the wooden floors. Derek stares at his toes, wiggling them up and down. He imagines the blood, from his chest, chasing the muscles in his legs; the pooling of motion at his feet. Doesn’t know how long he’s stood there staring. He runs his hands through his face, sighs. He walks towards the bathroom, glancing at the red plaid shirt Dex’s laid out on his bed. A flash of fire, a memory, something he should regret but can’t find the strength to.   
  
In the bathroom, he strips and looks in the mirror. The rich brown of his skin, the muscles that feel trapped underneath. Absentmindedly, his fingers graze the scars inside his thighs. Mariam said he was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. He’s searching for it now, in the reflection, in the words he writes, even on the ice, chasing the puck, tensing inside his gloves. Turning the shower on, he rummages through the bottom drawer, finds the pill bottle. He takes a pill, feels it dance on his tongue. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel it traveling down his throat, drowning in his stomach. He jumps into the shower, the scalding water ripping his thoughts from brain to wall; day to night to day to night back to day.

\-------  
  
When he was thirteen, Derek swore he saw a ghost. Woken up by a sound beside his bed, Derek stood up and saw a figure in the corner of his room. A man, person, a sketch of something. He had felt a pull, to reach out and touch what he couldn’t see. Was he scared? There was no chill in the room, only warmth, the steady breathing and the longing from the corner. It stayed there, a minute, two, an hour, then gone. Derek wasn’t scared but for weeks after, he’d wake up screaming. That was the beginning. 

\-------   
  
“No class today?” Chowder asks as Nursey sits at the kitchen table eating cereal. He flicks Derek on the shoulder and smiles as he opens the fridge.  
  
“Naw, chill day, just working on essays. Y’know, classic English shit.”  
  
Chowder snorts, “Chyeah as if you don’t love writing your 30 page essays on whatever white dude you’re learning about that week.”  
  
“Hey! Not my fault s’all white dudes, at least it’s 30 pages of me shitting on them,” Derek scrunches his face then smirks.   
  
“Yeah yeah, our true American hero.”  
  
“Bro, the chillest American hero!”

“Yeah, don’t let Dex hear that," Chowder says, as he rummages through all the food in their fridge, "no more pies?! I swore there was a blueberry one last night!" 

“Ooof, yeah no. Tango was upset about something, so Whiskey and Foxtrot decided to relax drink,” Derek explains, air quoting, “Ended with the destruction of the poor pie.”  
  
Chowder sighs and closes the door, “Bitty is gone for the weekend! Ugh, we gotta start making an emergency stash.”  
  
“Lol, yeah okay, as if it wouldn’t be found and demolished in an hour.”  
  
Chowder fake cries while propping himself on the kitchen counter. “How am I gonna survive?"

“Awe, it’s okay, my dearest bestest Chowder, I can make you something!”  
  
“Oh fuck off,” Chowder laughs. Derek joins him and thinks how calm things are. A space that he’s managed to carve out for himself, and a friend that feels warm on his skin. An itch on his inner thighs but he ignores it.  
  
“So…how are things?” Chowder asks after he’s settled down. He looks at Derek, examining.  
  
“Things?”  
  
“With Dex. Y’know living together and all? You guys haven’t tried to kill each other but…well, that doesn’t always mean anything.”  
  
“It’s chill Chow. Our schedules don’t match up so we don’t see each other that often. We’re friends. Not best friends but friends,” Derek smiles.  
  
“S’awesome, I’m happy to see my besties getting along!”  
  
“We do it all for you,” Derek winks, as he grabs his finished bowl of cereal and places in the sink. “Big plans for the weekend?”  
  
“Naw, tons of homework,” Chowder explains, jumping off the counter. His shakes his hands as if wet, “I’m seeing Farmer tonight, date night.”  
  
“Ooooh, get it Chow!”  
  
“Fuck off,” Chowder flips him off, “Anyway I gotta go, group meeting. See ya later!” 

“Bye! Say hi to Farmer for me,” Derek says, watching Chowder give him a thumbs up and leave out the front door. He stands there, listens to the silence of the house. Closing his eyes, he feels a prickling on his skin, and a memory of a shadow. Footsteps of his father, at his bedroom door. Waiting, waiting, thinking that if anyone ever came in, if anyone ever saw the blood, the tears, the shallow colour of his green eyes, they’d turn around, close the door and disappear somewhere Derek wouldn’t be able to find.   
  
He looks out the window then turns around and heads back upstairs. He closes his bedroom door, his back to the wood. Dex’s shirt catches him again. A pull, and he grabs at the shirt, brings it to his face. Breathing in the smell, just fabric freshener but he fills in the rest. Ocean waves, forest leaves, rustic towns far from the crowded streets of New York. It’s threadbare. A sob. Rust in metal, crackling at his throat and he sits on Dex’s bed. He cries because it feels alright. Because today is a bad day. And yesterday was a bad day. And before, a good day. Bad, good, bad, bad, good, good and void. Derek cries because he misses some part of him that he doesn’t know if he ever had. He cries because the season hasn’t started well, because maybe he’s slowing down, maybe he’s not finding the right lanes, maybe he’s not instinctively finding Dex out there. He cries because he knows no one’s in the house and alone fits best.   
  
Eventually it stops and nothing comes out. He gets off the bed and washes his face in the bathroom. Grabs his headphones, cranks the music and falls unto his bed. 

\-------  
  
Jeremy kissed him when he was seventeen. It was a party up north. So much shitty beer, boasting and trying to fuck around. The hockey team seemed to always find chaos and Derek at the centre. Andover was peaceful for Derek, an isolation that he didn’t understand until perhaps too late. He was handsome then, growing into his body, his skin a radiant brown and his eyes glittering in mischief. A girl had given him a sloppy blowjob and that had traveled quickly through the hockey team, a virus that attached to him like a medal. Had he wanted that? She had insisted, and he, well, she was pretty. Amy. Her blonde hair tangled in his fingers and he thought how soft it was. She was dangerous, a point piercing at him like every other person that stared at him. Exotic, one of the only people of colour at the school. To them, he was beautiful, but an other, something to attain, to conquer, to devour and then let wash up on some other shore.   
  
Jeremy was much the same. Needling him all night, lingering looks and breaths at his neck. At this point, Derek didn’t understand much, was he bi? Gay? Pan? It didn’t seem to matter, he just wanted to be there, with whoever sought him out. It would be an anchor, to keep him on soft soil. It was a bathroom, locked, a push to his knees and a cock in his mouth. Derek tasted the saltiness of cum, the forceful movement of a hip and a sputtering. It was good. Crushing his thumb, tears at the corner of his eyes, Derek felt good. 

\-------  
  
“Nursey?” Derek hears the door open and the setting down of a backpack. The light streaming inside has gotten deeper, late autumnal afternoon. He looks down from his bunk and stares at Dex, his golden eyes shining. Red hair curling in on itself, grown much longer than usual.  
  
“Yo, s’up? Derek says, his voice croaking with sleep. He pulls out his headphones and yawns.  
  
“Don’t you have class?” Dex asks, putting his laptop on the desk and sitting down.  
  
“Naw, chill day.”  
  
Dex snorts, “Isn’t everyday a chill day?” Dex starts typing, clicks scattering through the room. They feel sharper in his ears. Something churns in his stomach. He wiggles his fingers and stares at his palm. There’s a nervous energy in his bones, and he wants to blame Dex. Part of him wants to push him out, start a fight so there can be something sharp to use.

“Today’s extra chill,” Derek explains, sitting at the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side.

“Yeah?” Dex spins around to look at him. They really haven’t been fighting as much. Chowder’s right, that doesn’t always mean anything but it’s been good. They’ve been able to respect each other’s boundaries and they annoy each other, sure, but no explosions. And, the first kegster back, things changed a bit. The same feeling of a chase. It was drunken escapades, after things had started to settle. One of them made a joke, they both laughed and Derek thought, _I don’t miss home so much_. Who started the kiss? Derek will only believe it was him.

“What’s up today?” A tentative question, sending a vessel out to sea in hopes that other lands will be more prosperous. He feels the room almost swaying, almost hears the sounds of waves. An itching again. 

“Hmm, not a lot. Caught up on assignments so,” Dex runs his hand through his hair, staring intensely at his computer, “guess I’m having an extra chill day too.”

“Wow, Pointdexter, who have you become?” 

Dex laughs, “I don’t fucking know. Samwell’s ruined me.” _Ruin me in return_ , Derek thinks. “You gonna laze around all day? No drinking, no party? No getting high and waxing poetry?”

Derek stares at Dex. He pictures the razor blade between the bathroom cabinets. He hasn’t cut for two months now. The skin splits and he wonders if, in the membranes, in the vessels, his spirit is there. Today is a bad day. Today is a day that feels like falling between a boat and the pier. Don’t jump, don’t jump. 

“You wanna have sex?” Derek asks, the question falling on the bedroom floor, thumping on the oak panels. Dex swiftly turns around and stares at him, eyes wide. There’s confusion and underneath, boiling, ready to fall out, anger. 

“…What?” Curt and concise.

“You wanna have sex with me? Fuck me? Today ? Now, if you want.” Phantom hands wrap around Derek’s neck, pulsing as the air in the room condenses. Atoms crush one another and if Derek squints, he can almost see the cosmic bursts. 

Dex tenses up, continues to stare at Derek, “Are you fucking with me right now Nurse? ‘Cause that’s fucked up. Like I, wow, I can’t—”

“No, it’s not a joke,” Derek shakes his head, “I wanna fuck. You specifically. After that first kegster I’ve…well, round 2?”

“What the fuck Nurse?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Derek gives him a smile, but something twists inside. Cogs grinding together, a syrupy concoction spreading through his muscles, attaching itself to cartilage and joints. It feels as if everything’s shutting down in a factory reset. “But I’m not fucking with you. I…chill days are good for sex.”

Dex seems to squirm, runs his hands over his face. He sighs, “Nurse, I, dude, fuck off. Really? The kegster, I mean we didn’t talk about it ‘cause…I don’t know why, but I…” A rosy colour is spreading through his body, invading Dex’s neck, climbing up. His freckles seems to spread apart, dance in maelstroms. 

“What if…?” Derek jumps down to the floor, bending at the knees. He comes ups, curls tussled. A shine in his eyes, dazzling smile. “Let me try something? Stop any time.” 

Dex looks as if he’s going to say something but nothing comes out. Right on cue, Derek grabs the hem of his sweater and pulls it off. A slight motion but he puffs his chest out. Find the beauty, see where Mariam discovered it. 

“Okay?” Derek asks, catching a light tremor, miniscule nod from Dex. Frozen. Hem of his sweatpants and he pulls them down in a quick motion. A hand through his hair as he steps out of them. An itching again. A reminder of what’s between cabinets. Someone once told him he should make a porno. There was a leer in the voice, predatory but Derek laughed. 

“Good?” Derek stands there, in his green boxer briefs. Dex is an explosive red now. He can’t seem to decide where to look. Derek tries to imagine malice in the room but there’s just space between them. It’s odd, the way Dex pulls at him, yet awaits permission.

“Okay,” Derek says, pulling his underwear down. Stepping out of them, he stands, lets Dex take him in. He’s half hard now, precum leaking at his tip. There’s an almost movement in Dex’s hand. He stares at Dex, tries to even his breathing. Derek’s body is on autopilot. He searches for his own reflection in Dex’s eyes. Wants to wring it out of him, encase himself within everything that Dex sees.

Derek moves towards him. No movement yet but Derek can’t back down now. A leap of faith and he straddles Dex. He brings their foreheads together, breathes. It’s faint but he feels Dex’s hands softly dance on his back.

“Is this okay?” Derek whispers, his arms wrapped around Dex. He’s fully hard now and, involuntarily pushes into the other boy. He feels the fabric of Dex’s flannel around the head of his cock, feels himself tensing up, imagines Dex inside of him.

“Yeah,” Dex says back, hands travelling Derek’s back, slopes undiscovered, ravines that were shadowed before, a thousand legions destroying and conquering land. Something in Dex’s voice soothes Derek. His lips travel from Dex’s forehead, over his nose, to his lip. A hand at his cheek and Dex takes him in. It’s neither chaste nor rough. It’s a simple slotting in. Dex tastes like cranberry juice, like tracks on his skin, like freshly lit iron. He bites at Derek’s lips, and Derek bites back. A transformation from their initial fights, the way they riled each other up, tried to get the other to crack. Dex’s hand travel the length of his body, and Derek wonders what the fingers would do between scars. 

“I want your cock inside me,” Derek says, grinding against Dex’s stomach, making sure his ass presses into Dex’s hardened dick, “Wanna ride you.” Whisper, whine, whimper, Dex kisses his cheek.

“Fuck, yeah? You want that?” Voice shaky, and Derek’s fingers dig into Dex’s back, as he bites into Dex’s ear. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Need it. Please.” Perhaps pathetic, perhaps delirious. Derek knows in other realities, he’s in love with Dex, with Will. There, he’s taken care of, not hunted, not chased, not tamed. He’s gay, bi, pan, queer, he’s black, he’s safe, beautiful, sturdy blown up glass.

“I—fuck Derek, I’m gonna make you feel so good,” a rustling, movement, hands away from Derek. He just leans into Dex, as a drawer to the side is opened. A click, wet sound, and Derek feels Dex’s arm travelling down. Derek props himself up as Dex’s finger find his ass. A slight tremble and his fingers slide over his hole. A minute, two, Derek feels Dex’s finger entering him. The squelch of lube inside his ass, coating his insides. He nips at Dex’s earlobe, he grasps at his shirt. Another finger, Derek pushes himself down, wants Dex to hurry up. 

“Come on, Dex, Will, come on, your cock, your cock, come on,” It’s just whispers but they sound loud, fracturing against the walls of the house. The world is ending and this is the last embrace Derek will get. No time for foreplay, no time for light kisses, for floating in and out of planets, uninhabited, lonely and peaceful. 

“Shhhh, Derek I got you. I’m going to make you feel so good,” Dex’s voice sounds like it’s coming from inside Derek’s mind. His dick feels so hard, continues rutting against Dex’s shirt. “You look so good right now Derek. So—so pretty,” Dex’s finger finds Derek’s prostate and he sees stars, colours. A whine about to escape his mouth, but Derek bites down on Dex’s shirt, by his shoulder. “This is---fuck this is crazy Derek. If I could, I’d keep you naked, too pretty for clothes.” 

Three fingers, more words. Dex could be automated at this point. He has taken the gift given to him, and forgotten all else. It’s an extension of the kegster. Dex’s voice is shaky but warm and something twists in Derek. An infernal itching but all he wants is Dex’s cock inside him. He wants Dex to cum inside him, slick him up, make him feel it for days. He wants to be used, wanted, needed, destroyed. 

They’re kissing, spit and tongue and stone dead breathing. Suddenly, Derek feels empty. A whimper, embarrassing but Derek lets it out. 

“It’s okay, Derek, it’s okay,” Dex says, his hands going to his crotch, unbuttoning his pants. Derek lifts himself up to give Dex better access, putting his chin on Dex’s burning hair. He breathes, a salt smell he imagines. 

“Right there Derek, right there.” Derek looks down, Dex’s cock is out, his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His hand grips the base of Dex’s cock, lets his fingers explore the red pubic hair framing it. The head is red, foreskin fully peeled, big drops of cum glistening. This is his life.

No words, Derek guides Dex’s cock to his ass. Dex sits there motionless, lets Derek take full control. The pressure at his hole feels insurmountable, the anticipation cuts from the base of Derek’s spine all the way to his skull. A deep breath and he sinks into it as Dex gasps. Derek bites his lip, bringing himself down until he bottoms out. He feels full, completed, eradicated. 

“Fuck, Der—so tight,” it’s a breaking voice, morse code, and Derek’s not sure if he can decipher it. He begins to fuck himself on Dex’s dick and all sound collapses into a vacuum. A space walk, don’t look at the sun. Bring the shade, stay there and don’t tense up. Dex’s hands are at Derek’s hip, helping to guide him as he quickens his pace. Derek wonders what people would say, seeing him bounce on Dex’s cock. Exploding and falling. This could last forever or could end in the next breath. Dex’s hand travel Derek’s body, feel the muscles, instigate erratic reactions that pull Derek in and out of a haze. 

“Fuck, Dex, fuck, fuck, you feel so good,” hasty, breathless, he’s looking up at the ceiling as he continues to ride Dex. He imagines crop circles on the white of the ceiling and has to stop himself from reaching up. Can Dex feel inside his thighs? The skin that peels and slopes up, lighter than the browns of the rest of him. Rough, upheaval in lithic plains. He feels dirty, wants to jump into water and let the current wash away all his dirt; the leers and the laughter and the touches that came with compliments. His nails are digging into Dex’s back, protected by his threadbare shirt. If he could open Dex up, he’d climb in, shrink, become foreign in the body of a white boy that burns.

“I—Derek, fuck, dammit, I can’t believe you, fuck,” Dex says, nipping at Derek’s neck.

“Believe it, yo--,” A thrust hits his prostate and Derek feels an energy ricochet in his body, “--fuck, more, more, make me cum.” No response back, but Dex brings Derek into another kiss and starts thrusting upwards in rhythm with Derek. 

Today hurts. Tomorrow, he’ll sleep. Yesterday, he’ll cry. He will walk to the rink, put his gear on and slide unto the ice. He’ll follow the drills, up and down, circling the ice, gripping his stick, tracking the puck like another limb. There’ll be frustration, yelling, laughing, chirps. A deke to try to fluster Chow. A random memory of an icing. Hit the boards, laugh again. Everything will hurt, but it won’t matter. The ice will be there, with or without him. Hockey is there; will be there. Dex, his linemate, his friend, his tourniquet.

The rhythm continues, and perhaps the light streaming in has shifted, dusk in the periphery. Sweating, muttering and it’s there. A flash, and a ‘coming’ and done. Dex gasps as he comes in Derek, pulses from his cock, Derek’s ass feeling the slickness inside him. Not long after, a whimper, a biting at Dex’s shoulder and Derek comes too, reaching across the flannel. Breathing, lingering touches, forehead to forehead now. Derek has been fucked by Will. Nursey. Dex. 

Derek pulls away, looks at Dex, a cocky grin, “Told ya, chill sex is good.”

Dex looks at him then laughs, “Fuck the fuck off Nursey.”

\-------

They clean up and get dressed, Dex complaining about Derek coming on his shirt. They argue for a bit, going through the motions, but underneath, there’s a smile. 

“So,” Dex starts, his back to Derek, who’s sitting on his bed again. Dex’s has pulled a black t-shirt and shorts on, “what the fuck was that?”

Derek smiles, “Well, you see Poindexter, we just fornicated. I know big word, but you put your dick in my ass and then we both came. And we didn’t use a condom, which means I could get pregnant. I don’t think I’m ready to be a mother Dexy!”

Dex throws a pen at Derek, who narrowly dodges. “I will kill you Nurse. I’ll do it.”

“Lol, fine, I’m on the pill, no need to worry.”

Dex groans, “I can’t believe I fucked you.”

“Believe it! It happened. We fucked. No taking it back!”

A grunt or another groan, Dex turns to Derek and glares at him. “What brought this on?”

“Eh, I was horny. We had fun at the kegster. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

Dex squints at Derek, as if trying to mind read.

“Come on! As if you didn’t wanna fuck this?!” Derek says, pointing at himself with a grin. “I wanted to fuck you and you wanted to fuck me. Fun, right?”

Dex sighs and stares up at the ceiling as if it will swallow him up, “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Derek laughs and another pen is thrown his way. 

“Look, that was fun. No gonna lie, your dick is bomb. But it doesn’t have to happen again. Y’know, don’t shit where you eat and all that,” Derek’s heart beats a fraction faster, his fingers dig into the mattress, “But I’m down for more if you ever want it. Ball in your court,” Derek mimes dunking a basketball and Dex groans again. 

“How are we friends?” It’s small, and rigged, but Derek perks up at that. Friends. He knows Dex and him are friends but the confirmation, the way the word can fall out of Dex like that, it makes something recede. He jumps down and wraps his arms around Dex, who instinctively tries to wiggle out of.

“’Cause you love me!” 

Dex pushes him off but Derek catches a hint of smile. “Get off of me, I have work to do!”

“Bro, you’re such a liar, said today was a chill day.” 

“Well, something came up.”

“Yeah something came up alright,” Derek says with a leer.

“That doesn’t even fucking make sense Nurse.”

“Yeah, yeah, chill. Anyway, I’m going out for a bit, but you doing anything tonight?” he asks, as he put some jeans on, and grabs a Samwell hoodie. Dex sighs, stares at his computer again, “Nothing.”

“Let’s hang. No one’s at the Haus and I’ll get major FOMO if I don’t do anything. Can’t fuck my reputation up by doing shit all on a Friday night!”

“You don’t have a reputation Nurse, other than being a privileged piece of shit,” Dex replies, with zero venom in his voice. A leftover from some past act.

“Ah, but I’m your privileged piece of shit,” Derek says, ruffling Dex’s hair. Part of him expects his hand to catch on fire, part of him wishes it would.

“Fuck off,” Dex flips him off, still looking at his computer, “but fine, what you wanna do?”

“Eh, whatever, we can figure it out when I come back,” Derek explains, stepping out the door. He catches a glimpse of Dex’s slight wave and smiles. An itch and a ghost story come to mind. He goes downstairs and steps out the house, the autumn air rejuvenating against his skin. A flutter of golden leaves fly at his feet. Grass and trees sway with the brisk breeze and the dusk light feels warmer than a summer day. Derek walks.

\------- 

There was a ghost in Derek’s room, a truth he took years to believe. When he was blowing Jeremy on that scummy bathroom floor, he had felt a head resting on his back, soothing, a lullaby for the tears the pinched at his eyes. Jeremy gasped and trembled, called him a slut, beautiful, hot as hell, a god. Not a god, a blur, myth of falling in love with your own reflection, of hiding in caves, blotting out the sun. Legends of women stalking the streets for unfaithful men, of winged things that flew before disaster. He was a story that people chipped at, warped, claimed, and he let it happen. Now in Samwell, he was chill. Rich, mellow, a klutz, rowdy, drunk, fighter, quick on his skates, forceful, made lanes appear, wistful, a temper, heavy checks, a poet, a person, hockey player first, queer, black, beautiful, a slut.

He walks the street, imagines everyone gone. He swears because he forgot to bring his headphones. In another world, he loves Dex. In another world, he never made it out of Andover. He remembers tickets to see the Rangers play, a signed Lundqvist stick, his dad and mom smiling at him. He thinks that’s another world too, but maybe not. Therapist visits, shaking and screaming but nothing came out of his mouth. He knows things are wrong. But they feel right, they feel self-made, something he worked so fucking hard to achieve. Because he has, he’s worked so hard, slaved over every little step. No longer a boy, almost not a man. He works hard. Derek works hard. 

Walking and walking, the pond now in front of him. There’s no one here. Incredible to find solace by the water. He remembers Woolf grabbed a jacket, and used some stones. A time when he was sixteen. Where every night, he’d read her letters; _I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been_. Derek is happy. In all the haze, he finds happiness, joy in books, in hockey, in writing, music, family, friends, his team, Chowder and in, well, in Dex.

There was a ghost there, he knows it.

Derek takes his shoes off and grabs at his socks. The itching at his thighs and the letting out. Blood he’s seen so often, sometimes he mistakes it for paint. He went down on Amy and that control, that was his. Barefoot now and the grass slices and caresses. The dusk looks like Dex. A running start and splash. The water embraces him, cold and chaotic. Opening his eyes, he sees a reflection, an almost him. No stones with him, just loose threads. What would they say if they saw him now? He comes up, the splash hiding with the breeze. No one around and the sun burns his skin. They found the body the next day. Swimming, floating, smiling. Derek laughs, a true belly laugh. After a minute, he swims to shore and stumbles out, soaking wet, chilled to the bone. Itching, itching and now laughter. He feels tears at his eyes but they’re more than cries. He looks up at the sky, thinks, _a movie with Dex would be nice_. A strong breeze, leaves fall on him. _Yeah, a movie with Dex would be real nice_ , he thinks and closes his eyes. The sun sinks deeper and the dusk falls brighter. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading, comments are appreciated :)
> 
> I'm a queer latinx boy who loves hockey a lot and loves Derek Nurse a lot. What's written here is mostly just an outlet for a lot of shit feelings I've been having for a long time. So if you take anything from this, know writing can be therapeutic af.
> 
> Also, do not be afraid to reach out, to ask for help, when things are bad. You're not weak. You're not fucked. You're just a person, and that's okay.
> 
> Anyway, have a chill time bros!


End file.
